


And I'll write to you, until there is no ink left, until you come back to me

by TheTimetravellerCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Child Neglect, Depiction of Violence, Dysphoria, FTM!Dean, High School AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Misgendering, Sassy!Castiel, Semi-Epistolary, Tags will be updated as needed, ace!Castiel, chapter 8 is a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, conversion therapy mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimetravellerCat/pseuds/TheTimetravellerCat
Summary: The world hasn't been very kind to Dean. His father is an asshole, his mother died when he was child, and no one seems to notice that he is a boy. When he arrives in Brownwood, he thinks his life can't get much worse. It turns out it can. But at the end of the tunnel, someone will be waiting for him, and he will never be alone again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing that in 2016, and I've decided to take it up again. Heads up: it's going to get pretty sad, pretty fast, if that's not your thing, you shouldn't read it past the seventh chapter.
> 
> I'll update the tags accordingly anytime it's needed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, I'll try to update it regularly but I have no schedule.

Dean was three years old the first time he wet himself by trying to pee standing up just like his buddies. It was a total mess, and the lecture his father gave him didn’t change a thing about that. He could remember those exact words forever: “Girls don’t pee standing up, they sit. Period.”. But three years old Dean couldn’t understand this sentence, he wasn’t a girl, he was a boy even if his father didn’t seem to notice it.

At least, his mother knew, and she never failed to comfort him, even if she was too uncertain to stand up against John. She thought it was better if he could notice it by himself, but he didn’t, not this time. He didn’t catch up either the following times it happened again.

But one day, he had enough, and he decided to teach his daughter a lesson. This evening, upset, ashamed and lost, Dean cried himself to sleep. He didn’t wake up when his mum entered his bedroom to kiss him on the forehead with wet eyes, telling him she was sorry. After that, he never tried again. He was too afraid of the consequences.

However, hints never stopped flooding all over his life. He couldn’t stand any more having his little brother, Sammy, calling him his ‘sis’ and ‘Deannaaa’. It wasn’t cute, it was bloody annoying and wrong. Since his mother died, there was no one to tell him he was her good little boy and there was no one to limit the damage. She died when Sammy was six months old in an unfortunate accident. And after the event, he became more and more taciturn, as if his world had fallen into darkness.

He was six years old the first time he cut his hair off with big kitchen scissors. He genuinely thought cutting his hair would change things, that maybe if his hair looked more like the other boys’ hair, they would all see the true him, they would all see Dean, not Deanna or John’s little daughter, or poor Mary’s little daughter, just Dean.

As he got out of the bathroom, his head held and high, his father came home and his mouth fell apart at the sight of his daughter’s half-shaved head. He suddenly went red and started yelling at his daughter. Dean, who was so proud, even though his hair was a total mess, burst into tears. And there, pushed against the wall with his father screaming into his ears, he wished as hard as he could for his mother to be back, for his mother not to be dead and most importantly, he wished to be normal.

If Mary were still alive, it would have broken her heart, but she wasn’t there. Nobody was. Except John, who kept yelling until he got out of breath. When he was done, Dean was curled up into a sobbing ball, only wishing to disappear from Earth.

John, who was tired and didn’t want to have anything to do with his so-called daughter, went in the kitchen and did the only thing he could do since his wife’s death: getting drunk. Sammy was screaming too. He had been woken up by the noise and he was probably hungry. Slowly, Dean pulled himself together and got up to see Sammy, whipping away the tears from his eyes.

He needed to be strong, not for him, but for his baby brother who had no one but him and yeah, maybe for now he couldn’t see that Dean was his brother, but he would, later. Dean was sure of that. He would love his brother deeply, and no one would be able to break that love. As a matter of fact, John wasn’t the one who would take care of him, neither was he going to be there for any of his children. But Dean was. Dean would be there no matter what would happen.

That night, all alone and with something broken inside him, he made a promise to Sam and, bending over his tiny bed, he whispered: “We are on our own now Sammy, but I swear to you I will always take care of you, always.”. The deal was sealed. He then managed to get Sammy out of his bed and carefully went to the kitchen to find something they could eat. Their father was now asleep on the couch, in the dark, empty beer bottles all over the floor. Somehow, they did it without waking him up.

After reading Sam a story and putting him to bed, Dean went in his bedroom and lied down on his bed. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t fall sleep. So he stared at the ceiling. The house was completely still and he could hear his heart pounding in his ribcage, the blood coming back and forth to his temples. He felt nervous and there was fear inside him that wouldn’t go away. Fear of the future, fear of the unknown. He closed his eyes for a second and fall into the black hole of dreamless sleep.

They moved a lot during the following years, never staying more than a few months in the same town. John wasn’t exactly blessed with the ability of keeping a job longer than the average human being. The kids didn’t like that way of living but they had no choice and they did what they could to make it better, not actually good, but still better.

Dean didn’t mind having to change school every then and now, but he knew it bothered Sammy. He was a smartass but in a good way and Dean was sure he would become someone great. But against all odds, Sam always managed to keep his grades up and Dean to not get expelled. In fact, he nearly did quite a few times. Let’s say that all the odds never stacked in his favor. Always being the new kid didn’t help, and neither did his unusual situation.

If Dean had gave up with his dad, barely answering to him and keeping his little brother away from him and the troubles, he never stopped presenting as male, being boyish. And it led him to be an easy target, but letting down his identity and accepting what John had always ever wanted was worse.

He would never be Deanna, never. Of course, he never truly stopped arguing with his father and they still had those fights where his dad would tell him to “wake up and stop acting like a faggot” or that “he didn’t raise his daughter to be a bull dyke” and even though he defended his son to call Deanna ‘Dean’, Sammy was doing his best to not get into trouble with John but he also had the desire to not offend his sibling, so by common consent, he was calling him ‘D’.

As a consequence, John had never allowed his oldest kid to change his name. So as soon as a teacher would take attendance and call for “Deanna” but hear the answer coming from the mouth of a boy, questions would always start flooding and bullies would always identify him as a strange girl to make fun of. However, he always got lucky because it never went out of the school sphere and his dad never found out about it... until they ended up at Brownwood.


	2. Chapter 2

Brownwood was a very conservative town in Texas, more affectionately nicknamed “Yuck, worst place ever to ever sucks” by Dean as they crossed the city’s sign entrance. Dean was sixteen and Sammy was twelve, so they were both in high school. But they only had two school years between them. Sam had skipped one year and Dean had failed one. And this time, they were ‘lucky’. Only three weeks had passed since the school year had begun. At least Sam would have a chance to integrate himself, and Dean was happy about that, but he felt anxious. He never liked conservative places like Brownwood, they were more likely to reject queer kids like him.

The first day of school didn’t go too badly. They both apologized for their father, who ‘unfortunately’ couldn’t meet the school’s counselor, and got all the formal stuff done –including the formal speech of welcome – before they got sent to their respective classes. Dean wished good luck to Sammy before leaving him to go to his next class. 

He would rather wait for the bell to ring than interrupting the class. He knew it would be worse if he was suddenly introduced to his classmates in the middle of the class, in this scenario, he was certain to make a laughingstock of himself, whereas if was introduced at the beginning of a class, when no one would pay attention, he would have a chance to disappear in the background and to become a ghost, a student who no one would truly notice. Of course, he was being optimistic there, the truth was that he would probably only have a two or three days head start before he would become a punch bag but hey! Dreaming doesn’t kill people, uh?

The bell rang and students started submerging the corridors, chatting among themselves. Dean felt the anxiety engulfing him. He needed to calm down. He wasn’t even in the classroom yet. He tried to lower his breathing, hoping it would help his heart to stop pounding so much. He then tried to be positive, the teacher was already in the room, it was a good point. She would automatically notice him and wouldn’t call for him in front of the entire class. He took a deep breath and walked towards her desk.

“Hi,” he began, “uh, I’m the new student… Winchester.” He hoped she would take the hint, even though he knew they never did. And even if he wished he would be wrong, he was right, she didn’t get it.

“Oh, Deanna, isn’t it?” she said, smiling at him.

“Uh, yeah, kind of...” he jabbered.

“Good, go and take a sit.” She then pointed to the rest of the room.

Dean didn’t add anything and hurried up to find a place to sit, if possible, in the back where he could begin his ghost metamorphosis. 

Sadly, all the sits in the back were taken, but he found a place in the penultimate row right next to the wall. He put his bag on the table and buried his face in the rough fabric, waiting for the class to start. 

He could make it through the day. Maybe. If no one talked to him. He hated school, but for nothing in the world he would have asked his dad to work with him as a mechanic. But even if he had, his father would never have let him. According to his father, being a mechanic wasn’t a “girl’s job”. 

All of a sudden, he was pulled away from his thoughts by a silly voice:

“Don’t you think it would be better if you had a pen and a sheet of paper?”

Dean really wasn’t in the mood to argue with such a smartass. And with his luck, he knew for sure he would be reprimand by the teacher if he dared to say a word. And being noticed was against the rules of his ghost transformation. However, the guy didn’t stop there and went on:

“I don’t know if you have planned to pass this year but usually, taking notes helps to achieve this goal.” The silly voice pursued.

‘Oh shut up!’ thought Dean as he rolled his eyes and showed to the unknown boy the inside of his almost empty bag.

“Oh,” suddenly, the voice changed and became more bearable, “it either means you don’t care or you’re new in town, or both. But I’m going to assume you’re new and you haven’t got the time to get anything, such as something to write with. I don’t want to directly label you as a dunce. Who knows what’s really in your mind. Maybe you’re planning to murder kittens after school every time someone is calling you a dunce and I don’t want to be responsible for such an atrocity but I’m...”

“Mister Novak, would you please pay attention?” The teacher interrupted, crossly. 

“Sorry Miss. I was trying to help my...” He gasped; Dean had hit him under the table. “...myself to, uh, determine the reason of, uh, us not studying the chapter we had to read for today.” The aforesaid Mister Novak improvised.

“You would have known if you had listened more carefully.” She said out of patience.

“Yes, of course, sorry Miss.” He apologized.

The teacher sighed and gave him an exhausted look before returning to the subject of the class. He wrote down the title of the lesson while rubbing his ribs. He then turned to Dean, who now had his head resting on his crossed arms:

“Wow! That was rude, Mister Grumpy.” He whispered.

“Well getting noticed isn’t my goal, and you mentioning me wouldn’t have helped.” He muttered angrily.

“Oh, so you have a goal! What a surprise.” He answered bitterly.

Actually, Dean was happy. This Mister Novak or whatever had called him “Mister” and he felt less aggressive towards him, but he couldn’t show it or he might want to become friend with him or whatever and he would ask questions and he would discover his secret and proceed to make fun of him. So he stayed on the defensive, ignored him and tried to listen to what the teacher was saying.

“Oh, come on, don’t pout.” The boy murmured. “Here, have my ‘I am sorry I nearly screwed your secret mission’ gesture.” He said while handing him a piece of paper and a pencil not even chewed on.

Dean hid a brief smile and took it. Okay, the guy was sassy and annoying, but he didn’t seem too awful even though he wouldn’t let him know that, not now. It was way too soon, and he didn’t know him enough to know if he could trust him even a tiny bit.

“Okay, thank you for not helping me to fail this ever so interesting class.” He said sarcastically.

“Meh, Literature isn’t that awful you know, okay, okay, don’t roll your eyes, I’m leaving you in peace. Oh, by the way, my name is Castiel in case you were wondering.” He waited for an answer which didn’t come, so he went on a last time. “Okay, then you’re going to stay Mister Grumpy to me. Don’t take it wrong, I could have given you a much worse nickname like Mister Kitten Murderer.” He said before finally keeping quiet until the end of the class.

Dean kept quiet too and actually took notes. He hadn’t done it so seriously in a very long time, but somehow, this ‘Castiel’ had cheered his mood up and gave him the will of following the lesson. Maybe this school wouldn’t be too bad after all, but he didn’t put much hope in that thought. He didn’t want to be too disappointed. And for now, every single thing he had been through had gone badly at one point or another. That was another thing he had learned through his life: to not have big expectations.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting relatively sadder by the minute, you've been warned. But for now, it's mostly getting angsty. However, I've finished working out the outline, and it should have a happy ending (but it's still very very very far away).

Dean’s first week at school went by and nothing had exploded. He had even been taking notes in a few classes, and people hadn’t fully noticed his presence yet. Sam had made friends right away, and was being the perfect student he had always been. Dean was so proud of him. He knew his little brother would get places if he wanted to.

And speaking of friends, Castiel was proving to be a very decent human being. Dean enjoyed being in his presence. He was smart, funny, and never made comments on Dean’s appearance, or the name their teachers used. He knew eventually other people would catch up on it, but for now, he enjoyed the peace and quiet.

John was mostly letting them be. He was being busy at his job and often came back home exhausted, only to get so drunk he would collapse in the living room. The upside was that he was often too tired and too drunk to care about Dean or Sam.

Dean took advantage of it to steal a few bucks from his father to buy food for his brother and him. Life wasn’t too bad, he thought.

It went on like that for a few weeks. Until it started spiraling downwards again.

“Miss Deanna Winchester, please report to the principal office, immediately.”

Fear seized Dean’s guts. He wanted to puke. His throat was tight and his body was so hot, he thought he was about to combust. The voice had resonated through the speakers. Dead silence had followed in the classroom.

You could have heard a fly fly.

Dean remained seated, incapable of moving. It was as if his body had been made of stone. He couldn’t even bring himself to raise his head. He did see Castiel from the corner of his eye. He was looking at him, with a worried and puzzled look on his face.

The teacher looked at him. “Well, Miss Winchester, off you go!” She ordered.

Dean slowly stood up. Everyone was looking at him. He felt tears building up in his eyes. ‘Don’t cry now. Don’t cry now. Don’t cry now.’ He repeated himself, like a mantra. If he cried now, it would only make things worse.

He took his bag and walked to the door. He heard whispers on his way. “Wait, _this_ is a chick? Fuck me.” Giggles broke out.

He wanted to take his beating heart out of his chest. He wanted to crush it in his bare hands.

He finally left the room. Once he reached the empty hallway he wasn’t sure of what to do. He could just leave.

No, if he left and didn’t come back, they would call his father. And if they called his father, the real trouble would start.

Panic took hold of him. He needed to calm down. He walked to the nearby bathroom. It was empty. He locked himself in a stall and exhaled. Tears started rolling down his cheek, silently. He was taking short breaths, fighting back sobs. He didn’t need to be caught in the boys’ bathroom, having an anxiety attack.

He finally calmed down. His body was aching and all he wanted to do was to find a place away from everything and sleep. But he got out of the stall, splashed cold water on his face, took three deep breaths, and adopted a neutral face. That was the best he could do.

He realized he was definitely late when he emerged from the bathroom. Classes were still going, but it had been at least ten minutes since he had been summoned. He didn’t need more trouble. He hurried to the secretary’s desk.

“Winchester.” He announced himself.

“You’re late. The principal is waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry, I got lost, couldn’t find the office.”

She gave him a pointed look, but let it go nonetheless. She indicated him the waiting room on her left. Dean took a seat.

“Mr. Zachariah, Miss Winchester is here.”

The door of the principal’s office opened a moment later, revealing an old balding man in a suit. ‘Just my luck.’ Dean thought. The stern looking man motioned for him to come in.

Dean sat on a chair, his sweaty palms on his thighs. The principal cleared his throat.

“Well, young lady, it has been brought to my attention that you have been skipping P.E. since you arrived here.”

Pause.

“Your file has been transferred to us. Violence, skipping school, mediocre grades, degradation of the property of the state… Should I go on?”

Silence.

“Now listen to me, young lady.”

Dean cringed.

“You will not fool me. I know how it goes. First you start to skip P.E., who cares about P.E. anyway? Right? But then, it will escalate. It always does. So let me be clear, I’ll not allow any of it.”

The principal looked at him expectantly. Dean wanted to throw the pencil pot at him. But he stayed stoic and nodded.

“Good. I expect you to report to your P.E. teacher for class tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll have to call your parents. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He answered through gritted teeth.

“Good. You can leave now.”

And so he did, gladly.

He went straight outside to the parking lot. He felt the urge to scream, to kick at things. He bit his fists, clenched them until his knuckles were white and his nails imprinted in his palms.

The bell rang. He started running. He couldn’t be around people right now. His head was spinning.

He arrived at home breathless, his ribs and his lungs hurting like hell. He kicked his shoes in the entrance, threw his backpack full force at a wall and walked to the room he shared with Sam, slamming the door behind him. He let himself slide against the door, and stayed there, his head pressing against the cool wall.

His head was empty and his body full of pain. Everything ached. He had the deep desire to rip is chest off, to scratch himself until he would bleed. But he didn’t. He counted in his head, up to a hundred, then two, then three, then four, until he calmed down enough to move to his bed. He buried himself under his blanket and slept it off.

He woke up disoriented, haggard, generally feeling like shit. It was night outside. His skin felt clammy and his mouth furry. A desk lamp was on but dimmed by a towel. He could see Sammy’s shadow moving around him on the walls. The chair creaked.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Thanks.” He said, but realized Sammy had been doing his homework. His blood raced through his veins, adrenaline kicking him in the butt. “Shit. I’m sorry. You should have turned on the ceiling light.”

“I was worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me. For God’s sake. I’m supposed to be the big brother. It’s… School is important!” He lashed out, and immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I-I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s okay. You look awful.”

“No shit Sherlock. Ugh. Keep doing your homework, okay?”

He stood up, turned on the light, and looked for a change of clothes.

“Dad is up?”

“No. He came back late, already drunk, went directly to his bedroom.”

“’kay.”

He made his way to the bathroom, and kept the light off this time. He undressed trying not to think about his body. He had slept with his three sport bras on him. He winced. Removing them hurt, he could feel the red angry lines under his fingers, where the elastics had been.

He turned on the faucet. Cold water greeted him. ‘Great.’ He showered quickly. He did feel better afterwards. He put on his favorite Mountain Goats t-shirt rendered soft by the many washings it had endured, and an oversized black hoodie with a pentagram over it.

He came back to their shared room, and crashed on Sam’s bed. It was closer to the only desk in the room, where Sam was still seated at.

“I’m done.” The boy declared. His voice was firm. He had rehearsed it. Dean heard the hidden ‘there is no discussing it’, and to be completely honest, he wasn’t in the mood to argue with his little brother. He turned over, now laying on his belly, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, his phone in front of him, playing a video.

“Then come join me.”

Sam took the book on his nightstand and obliged. He propped his head on his brother’s back and his feet on the headboard.

“So… You wanna talk about what happened today?” Dean felt the vibrations of his brother’s voice spread in his back. It tingled.

“Hm.”

“I met Castiel. He recognized me, was quite worried about you-”

“You what?!” Dean turned around so fast his brother tumbled to the floor.

“Hey! My book! It’s all crumpled! I have to give it back to the library! Ms. Bradbury is not going to be happy about it.”

“Oh hush! You met Castiel?! Why did he talk to you?”

“He was worried, dummy. You disappeared on him. The principal called you, and ‘poof’ you were gone. He thought someone had _died_.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, nothing. I had nothing to tell him, I didn’t even know where you were. Why is it so important?”

“For nothing. He is just a nice guy is all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, hush! I’m not talking.”

“Well, it’s up to you. But if you don’t talk, you’ll be the one giving that back to Ms. Bradbury.” Sam said, while putting the mistreated book in his brother’s lap.

“Oh come on! It’s not fair. I can’t get in any more trouble with the school right now. And you would only have to charm her with your sweet-kid-smile when I would get eaten alive.”

“So it’s serious then.” Sam said, taking his book back.

“Well, not serious, serious. It’s just… The principal is an ass. He is threatening to call Dad at the slightest mistake. He wants to force me to go to P.E. He says that if I don’t show up starting tomorrow, he will call my parents. And we know how that will end.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get through it. I have to. If Dad gets a call, he will be pissed.”

There was more to it than what was being said. Dean felt the weight of his age on his shoulders. He would turn seventeen in a few months. And ever since he had turned sixteen, he had started to be afraid of his dad deciding to throw him out. Before, when he would get in trouble and it would come to his father’s ears, John would beat some sense into him. But recently, he had taken up to throwing hints at him, with underlying threats that he might not be able to stay with the family much longer if he kept going on the path he was on.

This scared Dean. If John kicked him out, Sam would be alone. And he couldn’t let that happen. He had promised him he would never abandon him. So, he tried hard to keep things quiet, keep a low profile, but it wasn’t easy.

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked, almost whispering.

“I don’t know.”

The thing is, Dean was stuck. Not going to P.E. would get him into trouble, but going to P.E. would too. There was no getting around it.

He had stopped going years ago. It had always been a nightmare. Navigating around changing rooms was hard enough, but the humiliation of being singled out by the teacher, who usually had no idea of what to do with him, was worse. Most of the time, they tried to force him to go on the girls’ side. That’s usually where the bullying started.

So Dean had decided to avoid P.E. altogether. And on that point, the principal had been right. Who cares about P.E. anyway? Well, obviously, that asshole did.

Dean sighed. He left his brother’s bed and went in his. The best he could hope for was that they would leave town before the problems would start. Yes, attending P.E. would be hell, and ultimately, trouble would arise, but it wouldn’t be immediate. He could deal with the bullying for a while, keep his temper even, act as if it didn’t bother him, didn’t affect him. He had to. For Sam.

“You should go to bed, you have class tomorrow.”

“You too, smartass.”

Dean threw his pillow at him. Sam giggled and threw it back.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Sammy. I love you, okay? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Love you too.”

He turned off the light, and rolled over on his side, facing away. He waited until he heard his brother’s light snoring before getting his phone out. He opened his messages and typed:

“ _Sry 2 have disappeared on u. It was nothing. See u tmw._ ”

He then immediately put his phone on airplane mode, plugged his earphones in and launched his nighttime playlist.

Dean didn’t get much sleep that night. His future felt uncertain. It felt made of thin air, ready to evaporate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, but it ends on a lighter note this time. I hope you'll enjoy it! I'm certainly enjoying writing it.

Dean’s phone’s battery had died during the night. He charged it, but he was scared to turn it back on. He had second thoughts about the text he had sent to Castiel. So, he threw it at the bottom of his bag, and left it there.

He threw on basketball shorts and an ample black t-shirt with some band name on it, and a black hoodie on top which he hoped would conceal the dreaded bulge. There was no way he was going to change at school. No fucking way.

He barely ate anything for breakfast, and left for school. He was feeling sick, his stomach felt tight, his palms sweaty, and his heart was pounding.

He made it in time to school, and he saw Castiel waiting for him with a grin on his face, and some worry, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to talk to him right now. So, he sat at the other end of the room. Castiel looked puzzled, and hurt.

Dean felt a pang of remorse. He turned away and doodled on a blank page of paper until the end of the class. It was a page Castiel had given him, and it somehow made it worse. A single tear fell on it, smudging the ink drawing he had made of an angel holding a heart in his hands.

He knew that after that day, there would be no denying the truth. There could be no more pretending with Castiel. And for the first time in his life, Dean felt the fear of losing a friend he cared about. He had truly believed in their burgeoning friendship. And now he was going to lose it all. It was simply more than he could take.

The bell rang. To Dean’s hear, it sounded like the tolling bell announcing his end. P.E. was next.

Dean waited in the hallway while everyone else went off to the locker rooms. A few people were already looking at him funny. He played with the cords of his hoodie to keep his mind away from the idea of running away.

His classmates soon flooded the hallway again to enter the gymnasium. Dean followed them, his heart beating faster than ever.

The sport teacher was a man his mid-thirties who looked like there was nothing he hated more than kids, especially _teenagers_. Dean wondered why he had decided to teach then.

“Okay, everyone sit down. Sit down! I said. I’ll be taking attendance.”

‘Oh, seriously!’ Dean thought. He had hoped he could at least try to blend in with the crowd and go unnoticed. But it made sense, after all. It explained why the teacher had systematically noticed Dean’s absence.

Sure enough, his name was called last. The burden of having a last name ending in a W.

“Deanna Winchester? Absent again I guess. Well, too bad, I will have to report her to the principal. Again.”

“I-I’m here, actually.” His voice had suddenly decided to rise.

“Well. Look who finally decided to join us. Care to explain yourself? You thought you were too good for P.E. maybe?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?” He taunted.

Dean didn’t take the bait. The teacher waited until the silence grew uncomfortable.

“Well, have it your way. Five laps for everyone!” He shouted. “Then I want the boys on the left, girls on the right!”

Dean started running. His ribs were already hurting, and he felt way too hot in his hoodie, but he couldn’t take anything off. He felt horribly self-conscious, even if he knew he didn’t have to be. It didn’t help.

Castiel jogged up to him. Dean sprinted, but had to slow down rather fast. His breathing was ragged.

“Are you gonna talk to me?”

Dean refused to answer. He could be quite stubborn.

“What happened?”

Dean couldn’t face him. He wanted to talk but his throat was tight, and his mind was blank.

“Nothing my… No, you know what, I’m not going to become mouthy just for you.”

Silence.

“Fine. Keep sulking.”

Castiel sped up and left Dean on his own. Not that he didn’t deserve it, quite the contrary, he thought.

After their mandatory five laps, everyone gathered on their respective side. Dean pushed it off as long as he could, but ultimately had to do something. He couldn’t stand in the middle indefinitely.

In a reckless movement, he went to the left side. It was the boys’ side.

He shouldn’t have. But he knew he would have regretted it if he hadn’t at least tried.

“Look who it is.” A boy laughed.

“Hey, Loosechester! Go back to your side.” Another boy called.

“Haven’t you heard? The girls’ side is the right side.” Boy number one added.

“The problem, lads, is that that’s definitely not a girl.” A third boy chipped in.

“Shit, you’re right, Michael. But what is it, then?” Boy number two asked, with a shit eating grin.

“That I don’t know. But I do know that it belongs to the circus.” Michael said, while giving Dean an evil glare. ‘I’m the boss’, it said, ‘and I will make a short work of you’.

The other boys broke into a fit of laughter.

Dean wanted to disappear into the ground. He also wanted to punch that Michael guy. But he couldn’t. He clenched his fists.

Castiel was now standing beside him, and was about to start talking, but Dean abruptly left. It would just have made it worse.

He joined the girls with a heavy heart. But even there, no one made an effort to integrate him. They actually stood away from him, acting as if he wasn’t there, which was somehow still better than them acknowledging him.

The rest of P.E. went pretty much like that. Anytime Michael or one of his minions passed him, they made a snarky comment, or poked him, and the girls ignored him as much as they could. Castiel didn’t try to make contact with him again.

When P.E. finally ended, Dean left without further ado.

It was lunch time. Almost everyone was in the cafeteria, or in the big courtyard. Dean headed to the small courtyard, by the school’s chapel. He needed to be alone.

He sat on a bench, he was half hidden from view by big bushes of begonias. He put his head in his hands, and stayed like that for quite a while.

“Dean Henry Winchester!” A voice shouted, visibly from nowhere. “I can see you. Those begonias will not fool me. And I’ll have you know that I am well aware that Henry is probably not your middle name, but I needed one.” It was Castiel. He appeared in front of him, though he couldn’t see his face. The sun was coming from behind the other boy, and it blinded Dean.

“Come on. Scoot over. I’m not going to stand forever.” Dean didn’t say a word, but he obliged and made some room for Castiel to sit beside him. “I’ve actually been looking for you for ages. You know that you’re making me miss French fries. French fries! It’s a tragedy!”

“I’ll buy you some another time. If there is another time.” Dean mumbled.

“Oh! So the boy can talk! Bless the Lord!” Castiel joked, with heavy sarcasm.

Dean intertwined his fingers and fidgeted with his thumbs. His brow was frowned and his eyes seemed to be looking far away.

“Okay, but seriously. You get called to the principal office, then proceed to completely disappear. And then I get this text late at night, like it’s all nothing and I’ll see you tomorrow. And when I do see you, you act all weird, ignoring me. Did I kill your cat, or what?”

Dean looked up in confusion. “Dude, seriously, what’s your obsession with killing cats?”

“Don’t try to distract me, it won’t work. I’m smarter than that. Because it may not look like it, but I am smart Mr. Grumpy Grumps. And I can see you’re definitely acting weird. More than before. It goes without saying.”

“Come on! Drop the act! I know you’ve figured it out. So why don’t you drop it.”

“Drop what?”

“Stop playing dumb, Mr. Smart!” Dean exploded.

“I’m not playing dumb. I’m not dumb.” His tone was suddenly serious. There was no hint of sarcasm or irony anymore. “People think I am. They think I’m oblivious, that I don’t notice anything. But I do. Only it is not the same things they themselves notice.” He sighed. “For example, I noticed right away that they got it all wrong about you. I wasn’t one hundred percent positive at first. Because people are complex, and you can’t draw definite conclusion by just looking at them once. But I could see it in the way you couldn’t help but open up a tiny little bit when I called you that silly nickname. Mr. Grumpy. I could see how you clamed up, just like a little clam, anytime someone else talked to you. I mean, you practically turned to stone anytime a teacher would call your name out. So, yes, I figured it out. But there wasn’t and there still isn’t any act.”

Dean could feel the pain of his friend. The pain of rejection, and judgment. The same pain he had been so afraid to get.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I shouldn’t have been mean to you. I-I was scared. I still am.”

“I won’t lie. It kind of sucked. But I have no will to lose you.”

“Me neither.” Dean admitted, and it felt good to say it aloud.

The bell rang again. Lunch time was over, and they had class, but neither of them moved.

“You know what, I think I’m going to play truant.”

“You? Play truant? Excuse me, but I have my doubt you can actually do that. But for real, I can’t, for once.”

“You like physics that much, uh?”

“No. I’ll get in trouble is all. Real trouble, I mean.”

“Oh, crap. What kind? Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine. They’re threatening to call my father, at the smallest mistake I make.”

“Hence why you suddenly showed up in P.E.?”

“Yeah. That was bad enough, I don’t need more.”

“Meh. Mr. Singer is really nice. He likes me. I could tell him I was giving you tutoring lessons. He would scold me for doing so at the same time as his class, but he would never denounce you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Eh, I have my reasons. He covered for me a couple of times. And I’m real advanced in physics, while you, mister, are real late.”

“Not _that_ late. And it’s not like my schooling has been consistent anyway. I have excuses. I mean, real ones.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not a bad student on purpose, then?” Castiel taunted, gently.

“Oh course not! It hasn’t been easy you know! And it doesn’t help when people constantly make fun of it, or keep me in the ‘bad student’ box.”

“Sorry, that wasn’t very considerate of me.” Castiel apologized.

“I’m- It’s a sensitive subject. I’ve already failed a year. And it feels like I’m going to drop out anyway. It makes me feel worthless.” Shame reddened his cheeks.

“You’re really not. You know, I was joking about tutoring, but I could actually do it. As you like to point it out, I’m a good student, and not too bad of a teacher. I’ve done some tutoring in the past.” He was earnest.

“It’s nice, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Dean looked away. “Because I can’t pay for tutoring lessons. And you can’t come to my house, anyway. And even if you could come, we only have one desk, and Sammy needs it, and-”

“You silly. I would do it for free, as a friend. And you could come to my place. I’m pretty sure my mom would actually be de-ligh-ted. She always says I should bring my friends home. At what time do you need to be back home?”

Dean was too astonished to think, and he answered mindlessly. “7pm.”

“See! That’s two full hours each day! Sure, it will takes us some work, but you should be able to catch up with the syllabus, and then we can move on to actually making sure your head stays above the water for good, I won’t allow any half-drowning-”

“But, what about your own homework?” Dean asked, baffled. No one had seemed to care about him so much since… since his mother.

“Oh boy, do you really think I have a social life? Sir, you would be mistaken. The only social life I have is with my cat. And don’t worry, she will be sprawling over our notebooks no matter what, and judging us from the top of her kingdom, aka, the fridge.”

“I-I can’t. You’re really nice, but-”

“Are you afraid of something? Are you allergic to cats?” Castiel was genuinely puzzled.

“No. No. It’s just that… I’ve been on my own for so long. I’m not used to… getting help. Just like that. Without paying for it, or something.”

“I-Not everything you say is making sense right now. But I think we should try it. You’ve been making efforts to keep up, and I don’t think it would be fair to let you down.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try it. But promise me to tell me if it becomes too much.”

What he really meant was ‘If _I_ become too much’, but he added nothing more.

“Pinky promise. So, we have deal then?”

“Yes, I guess so?” Dean said, tentatively.

“Great!” Castiel seemed ecstatic. “I can’t wait!”

“You’re weird, you know that?”

“Oh, is that so? You were the one hiding behind begonias. But I’ve know those begonias way longer than you. They would _never_ betray me.”

They continued to argue playfully, about begonias, and drama – Dean asking Castiel to act out some Shakespeare for him – until the bell rang again.

They joined back the rest of their classmates, and when Dean went home that evening, he felt ever so lighter than he had in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update this time, I hope you'll enjoy it. Have a nice day! :3

For the first time that week, Dean didn’t wake up feeling like he was hangover. He lay awake in his bed, enjoying the quiet. Sam was still sleeping. It was Saturday. In Dean’s opinion, Saturday was the best day of the week. There was no school. His father worked. He had the full day to himself, and Sammy.

He enjoyed this few minutes every Saturday morning, in this lawless area. The day hadn’t begun yet. Nothing felt quite real in these minutes. Dean could close his eyes and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. He could pretend to be anywhere in the world, and anywhere in time. He could close his eyes and if he was careful enough, if he groomed the sensation just right, he could feel as if anything he imagined was real. He could pretend to still be in his bed back when his mother was still alive, back in their first house where everything felt safe.

He could pretend the sounds of the floorboards creaking were those of his mother’s footsteps. He could pretend the sound of the wind against the windows was his mother humming to herself. It was as if she had never left.

It always left him feeling bittersweet. But he craved it. He craved those moment of borrowed normalcy.

He got up, careful to not make any noise. He didn’t want to wake up his little brother. And he went to the kitchen, still in his pajamas. He always slept in an oversized hoodie. It didn’t matter how hot it was. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone, even Sam, seeing him when he was not binding. But he wasn’t careless enough to sleep in several sport bras. He usually kept just one, and with the sweatshirt, it was enough to make him feel okay-ish around Sam.

Dean poured himself a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal, no milk. He thought milk and cereals was disgusting, he hated the squishy feeling of damp cereals. His brother relentlessly argued with him on that one. But Dean would not budge, milk didn’t belong in cereals.

He turned the TV on, volume on low, and watched a few episodes of The Simpsons. It was distracting enough. He didn’t like being alone in silence with his thoughts. They more often than not circled back to dark places. He had this constant feeling of being stuck, and powerless.

He was stuck in a situation he hated, and there was simply nothing he could really do about it. He dreamt of leaving, finding a job and going away. It wouldn’t be easy, that’s for sure. But at least he could get started on his physical transition. Maybe he could even find a place where people were supportive, or at least just not jerks. He would settle for basic respect, basic human decency.

But he couldn’t leave. He could not leave Sammy behind.

Dean was sixteen, he could get emancipated by court order, probably. But Sam was only twelve, and he was not going to leave him behind with their father who, he knew, would take it out on him. So he stayed, and waited.

One day he would get to fully feel like his true self, and to show the world. Just not quite this minute.

It upset him. It made him angry, and frustrated. It often made him cry himself to sleep. The worse was this feeling of being bound hand and foot. He was almost an adult. Hell, he had been taking care of his little brother and himself for years. And yet, he was not allowed to take any decisions regarding his own self, physically and legally. It was not fair.

His phone vibrated. It was Castiel.

C: _Dean._

_It’s an emergency._

_I’m not kidding._

_My cat is way too cute._

_Call the police._

_That’s illegal, sir._

_Oh no._

_She is resisting arrest._

_Nooooo._

_She is overcoming me with even more cuteness._

_I’m defeated._

He smiled.

D: _i believe thats mewtiny_

C: _OMG._

_Did you make a cat pun?!_

D: _i pawed not_

C: _Sorry, but that one was terrible._

D: _yes it was_

_but u liked it_

C: _No._

_Okay, maybe._

_A tiny bit._

_I chuckled._

Dean smirked.

C: _You’re feeling all smug now, aren’t you?_

D: _yeah_

_no regrets_

Castiel was smiling too, on the other end of the phone.

C: _I knew it._

_Well, break is over. It’s time to go back to my friends the vectors, and my pals the equations._

D: _i’ll leave u 2 it_

_have fun_

C: _Oh, I will._

_Talk to you late._

_Or should I write…_

_Ttyl._

D: _who r u?_

_and what did u do 2 Castiel?_

C: _Just kidding._

_I’m blaming it on the cat._

_Bye._

Dean pocketed his phone. He felt lighter. He was glad to have that cat-obsessed doofus in his life. Castiel was the first friend he had who respected him, who knew and still respected and appreciated him. Before meeting him, he was inclined to believe no such thing was possible. But it was.

Ever since Castiel had entered his life, Dean had felt like there was hope. Hope for him, hope for the future.

And being hopeful was not a sensation he was used to. But he decided he liked it. He liked that his world felt brighter, broader.

And Castiel was cute.

Dean blushed.

“Are you… blushing? I don’t think I’ve actually seen you blush, ever.”

Dean startled. Sam wad looking at him from behind the kitchen counter. He hadn’t heard him come. His hair was all over the place, and sleep was still imprinted on his face.

“No, I’m not…” He tried denying.

“Is it Castiel?” Sam asked, not fooled at all.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dean took a cushion and hid his face in it.

“Oh oh oh. Yes, you are blushing.”

Sam put his own bowl on the coffee table and joined him on the couch. He poked him in the ribs.

“Come ooon. Talk to me.”

“There is nothing to say!”

“So it was Castiel.”

“I- Ugh. Yes. Fine. It was Castiel.”

“Well, he seemed nice.”

“He is.”

“And cute.”

“He- Hey! I never said that. And that’s beside the point. I’m sure he isn’t interested.”

“You’ve asked?” Sam asked, a mouthful of cereals and milk.

Dean didn’t answer. He was convinced Castiel wasn’t interested. There was no way he was. “So, did the librarian eat you alive?” He asked, inconspicuously.

“Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there. No, she didn’t. Mrs. Bradbury is a civilized human being, unlike someone else I know.” He gave him a pointed look.

Dean stuck his tongue out at him.

“Very mature.” Sam commented. “She made me dust the shelves with the encyclopedias. I can still feel the dust in my nostrils. You owe me one!”

Dean chuckled. “Fine. Now, hush! I want to watch that Simpsons’ episode. I think it’s the one where Burns is a vampire.”

“Have I seen it?”

“Probably, it’s a rerun.”

Sam finished his cereals and settled against his big brother as the series theme tune started. They watched cartoons for the rest of the morning, and Dean texted Castiel several times, discreetly, or so he thought.

There was hope in the air. Hope, and a dash of love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean discovers that Castiel is very much not straight.
> 
> Sidenote: I had a little fun on roomsketcher, so if you want to see some reference pics of Castiel's bedroom's layout, scroll down to the end of the chapter.

Mondays. Dean had always had a love-hate relationship with Mondays. Mondays meant he had to go to school and see people. But it also meant getting out of the house, usually after a full day of his father being around.

And now there was Castiel. Mondays meant seeing Castiel after two full days of not seeing him at all.

Dean felt conflicted about his feelings for him. He knew nothing could come out of it. Hell, Castiel was probably straight. And Dean was convinced to be way too queer for anyone to want to date him. Yes, it would never work.

And yet! And yet! He was definitely pinning.

He dropped his head against the kitchen counter where he was eating his mandatory morning cereal bowl. He was in over his head.

Sammy - who had no compassion whatsoever in Dean’s opinion - shouted at him while running for the front door that he should better hurry or he was going to be late and he was not waiting for him because there was no way he would be late because of him.

Dean groaned, picked up his backpack near the door, slipped in his boots and ran after Sam. They arrived exactly on time, and Dean teased his little brother with a ‘told you so’ right before parting ways.

His first class of the day was physics. Dean liked physics enough. More precisely, he liked mechanics. And the teacher, Mr. Singer, was actual quite nice. He was fun, always five minutes late, often with a cup of cold coffee in one hand and a haphazardly-stacked pile of papers in another, and he never belittled his students. He would tell them off if they were being assholish, but he never ridiculed them because of their skills or knowledge.

Dean spotted Castiel and sat beside him. He was wearing a short-sleeved pale blue shirt and an adorable bowtie with little cats on it. His hair was disheveled, as always. He was deep into a book, probably some kind of weird European treatise. He was an absolute nerd, and Dean was screwed.

Mr. Singer entered the room, with his cup and more papers than usual, struggling to balance everything. He finally gave up and let everything fall on his desk in a loud thud. The chatter immediately stopped, and an anxious buzz took hold of the class.

He was going to hand back their assignments. Dean was crossing his fingers and Castiel was looking at him encouragingly. He had worked very hard on it, with some help from Castiel. But he hadn’t given him the answers. So, it was time to see if his efforts were paying off.

He always handed out the papers in alphabetical order, and was always ranting about how handing them out from the highest grade to the lowest was actually psychological torture and how it shouldn’t be allowed anymore. Dean agreed with him in substance, but it also meant he had to wait. He was always the last one to get his.

Finally, Mr. Singer gave him his paper. “Nice work! Keep it up, kid.” He said, giving Dean a light slap on his shoulder.

And right there, right on top, there was an unmistakable B-. It was probably the best grade he had ever had in years. He turned to show it to Castiel, but the boy was already looking at it behind his shoulder. And he was smiling so big. There was pride in his eyes. Dean appreciated it, but he also wanted to disappear into the ground.

Castiel jumped on him during their lunch break. “I told my mom! She says she is so proud of you! And that she will make cookies. And before you ask, no, you can’t escape the cookies. She said this definitely called for mandatory celebratory cookies and that she wouldn’t allow any protest. She will probably make her peanut butter ones. Haaaaa, I’m hungry just thinking about it.”

“You know I don’t have anything against your mom’s cookies.”

“I fucking hope so! She makes the best cookies.”

“But-”

“Shhh! You deserve them. Accept them. I mean, it would just mean more for me, but she’ll be upset.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll accept the cookies.”

Dean felt warm inside. When he had first begun the tutoring lessons, he hadn’t been so sure about it.

It felt odd, stepping in someone else’s house, into a loving home. And the Nowaks were great people. Castiel’s mom loved him; that was obvious. And she was super nice and super smart too. She was an aerospace engineer, and mostly worked from home. His father, however, wasn’t often home. He worked for NASA and was in Houston during the week. But the few times Dean had seen him, he had seemed like a really nice dude. And he knew he called Castiel every night.

But it had worked out. As Castiel had predicted, his mom was delighted. She thought it was a great idea, and assured him multiple times that it was really okay. Dean had been taken aback. He was usually considered “a bad influence”. And she was great about the whole gender thing too. She had made no comment whatsoever, and had asked no questions either. Dean was grateful about that.

So, he went to Cas’ place every day after school. They studied, for real, and on occasion, Dean shared dinner with them. But it was rare, and most of the time, they talked about lessons, and homework. They had been through quite a few frustrating moments, but Castiel was actually an amazing teacher. Dean had made immense progress under his tutoring.

The results were undoubtedly starting to show. Though, most of his teachers didn’t care, and very few were like Mr. Singer – encouraging - some were real asses, and accused him of cheating, but had to withdraw their accusations. Dean had no idea why, and Castiel refused to talk, even if it was obvious he knew something about it. For once, he didn’t press, and decided to have faith in his lucky star.

They went to the Nowaks after school. He had passed Sammy down the hallway on their way out, and he had simultaneously congratulated and teased him all in good spirits. It was a nice day.

Dean removed his shoes at the door. The house smelled of chocolate. Castiel’s mom appeared in the hall.

“Hi boys! We were out of peanut butter, so I made all chocolate. I still have a few things to finish, so be nice, and don’t make too much noise! And honey, don’t forget to write down what you need on the grocery list, I’m going tomorrow. See you kids!” And off she was. She was a very energetic woman, always doing something, and she always had about six different projects going on at all times.

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Thanks mom!”

Castiel led Dean to his room. It was upstairs, facing the backyard, with two big windows. The walls were blue, ‘Crayola blue’ as he had told him, because one day his mom had grown tired of him wearing out crayola after crayola on his white bedroom walls. So they had gone to the hardware store and repainted everything, except for one full wall that they had turned into a giant blackboard.

There was also a couple of lesser known Van Gogh reproductions, three overflowing bookshelves and piles of books randomly stacked everywhere (‘Who has so many books?’ Dean had asked, ‘Wait until you see the living room’ Castiel had answered him).

His desk was facing one of the windows and behind it stood his mezzanine bed with a reading nook underneath, and a small sofa besides it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that your bedroom is such a nerd bedroom. I mean, I like it, but dude, so many books.”

“And yet, there still aren’t enough of them. Later, when I have my own place, I want every single wall to be covered in books.”

“Aw.”

“Still don’t want me to free some space on my desk for you?”

“Nope. I’m very fine doing my stuff on the floor. Desks aren’t for me. I don’t like them, they don’t like me, feeling is mutual.”

“They don’t like you? How so?”

“I always fuckin’ bang my knees beneath them. They’re out to get me, and I know it.”

“Okay, fine.” He chuckled. “Well, at least I don’t have to take care of the mess on my desk right this minute, then.”

“Okay, so what do we need to do?”

“Jeez. You ought to write down your homework.”

“Oh! I have! I had forgotten I had!”

“I really really want to face palm right now, but that’s progress!”

“Hey! I even got one of those diary-thingy-agenda-stuff. Okay, no, Sammy got me one. But I have one! And I’ve deflowered it.” He added, suggestively.

“Oh my god. I hate you. And it’s going to snow now, since you used an actual agenda.”

“Come on, we’re in Texas. Don’t get your hopes high.”

“Thanks, party pooper. Okay now, get started on math, I’ll get us some cookies.”

Cas’ came back with the promised cookies, and damn they were good. They studied for some time, Dean asked questions every now and then, but he understood way more stuff than he did a few weeks back. It was really working. Maybe he was going to pass that year after all.

After finishing his take-home test, Dean declared he was done. He moved to the sofa, threw back his head and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

“My brain is fried, but you can keep working if you want. I’ll run interference with your cat.”

“Aw. How sweet, but no, I’m done too. I’ll read it again tomorrow, with a fresh head, but I’m not touching it anymore today.”

“What is it?”

“Our geography assignment.”

“Our… but it’s not due until at least two weeks from now.”

“Yes, I know. I like being… organized. And unsurprised.”

“I’m just amazed. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, my parents are productive freaks, and I’m their offspring.” He whispered with an air of conspiracy. “And my only social life is my cat… and you.” He blushed.

“Come on, you have friends.”

“Well, yeah. I just… don’t like hanging out with them outside of school. With you… it’s… different.” And here we were with the blushing again. Dean was confused. That was an understatement. He was a mess.

Castiel joined him on the sofa. He tucked his feet underneath the cushion. He was facing Dean.

“I-”

“I-”

“Sorry.”

“No, you start.” Dean said.

Castiel took a deep breath.

“I like you.” He exhaled. “There. I said it.”

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“Wait. You like-like me?” Dean was stunned, his brain was having a hard time processing all his feelings.

“Yes, I like you. I like you as in ‘my heart is doing somersaults when I see you’.” He paused. “You should know that I’m going to refrain from making a very snarky comment, but it’s not easy.”

“Can I kiss you?” was the first thing Dean said once his brain caught up.

“Kiss me?”

“Sorry. I’m going too fast. I- We-we can go slow.”

“No, no! I want you to kiss me – I mean, I’m okay with a chaste kiss – but I didn’t think you were going to reciprocate… I-I thought you were straight.” It was Castiel’s turn to be dumbfounded.

“Straight?! Hell no! Bi, maybe, but definitely not straight. I thought you were. Or, at least, I thought you wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Well, I am. I mean, no, I’m not. I mean, yes. Oh, shut up Castiel.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “No, I’m not straight. Yes, I’m very much interested in you. Romantically that is. Not sexually.”

“I’m… not sure to know where you are going with that…” Dean had moved away from him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I- It’s not because you’re trans. Oh gosh. I’m doing a terrible job at this whole communication thing.” He paused. “I’m-it’s because I’m ace. Asexual.” He paused again. “It means I’m not sexually attracted to anyone. And I personally don’t want to have sex. Ever.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He looked away. “It’s alright if you don’t want to be with me.”

Dean reached out and took Castiel’s hand in his. “I want to.” He squeezed his hand. “You okay with kissing?” He asked.

“Yeah, just… no tongues involved, please.” He said, making a face. Dean chuckled.

“Okay. I can get behind that.”

He leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. Castiel kept his eyes closed.

“You okay?” Dean whispered.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I’m just setting it in my mind forever. You know, in case you never do it again.”

Dean kissed him again. Castiel moved his free hand to the side of Dean’s head and brushed his cheek.

“I really really like you.” He said.

“Good, me too.” Dean replied.

They snuggled until it was time for Dean to leave, and they parted ways with yet another kiss. Dean felt giddy as he walked home. He couldn’t believe his luck. He loved Cas’ and Cas’ loved him back. Life was good.

\--------------------------

A few reference pics of Castiel's bedroom's layout I did on roomsketcher:


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

Dating Castiel was… great. It was more than he could have asked for. Sammy was not letting him live it down. And as annoying as it could get, it was slightly endearing too.

But it was also scary. Dean had to be careful around the house, around his father. He was always dreading coming home, and the sound of the bolt unlocking always made him freeze. He would run to his room, close the door and stand there, unable to breathe. He didn’t have to watch his words since they didn’t exactly talked, but his very own existence felt illicit.

He was always on edge, in survival mode. Not that he had ever felt truly safe around John, but it had become worse. And more than ever, he felt grateful for the two hours of oasis he had every week day afternoon with Castiel.

Those stolen hours of respite allowed him to keep going. It allowed him to keep up with his school work, to keep believing in a future that didn’t feel so out of reach anymore. For maybe the first time in his life, he was wondering if he could go to vocational school.

He didn’t believe college was something he would like. He still wasn’t much into academics, but he liked the idea of a part time kind of deal. A program where he could do something with his hands half of the time, and learn other stuff in a classroom the other half. That was a deal he could get behind.

He had started talking about it, with Mr. Singer. He was the only teacher he trusted to not laugh at him. It also made sense to talk to him because he was the physics teacher and back in his day, he had taught an automotive course that had disappeared since then. And Dean was still thinking of becoming a mechanic, maybe. He really loved engines.

It hadn’t been the easiest thing he had done in his life. But it had gone okay. Mr. Singer had been able to see that Dean was serious about it, and he had given him great – but colorful – advice.

And after that stressful discussion, he had had his first ‘official’ date with Castiel.

Okay, date was a strong word. They had gathered snacks, hot chocolate, and fruits at the insistence of Castiel, and had made themselves comfortable on the Nowaks’ back patio.

“I can’t believe it took us so long to have our first date.”

“So long? It’s not like we waited months.” Dean interjected.

“Well, it has been three weeks since our first kiss.”

“We had work, or at least, that’s what I was told.” He teased.

“And it was true! But it’s almost winter break. I think we’re allowed to take some time for us.”

“Winter break… I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but… for once I wish we could skip the holidays. It will be hard not seeing you almost every day. I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too. But I won’t be away too long, and it’s tradition. We always make a road trip for winter break.”

“I know, I know. But come on, no phone? It’s torture. It’s depriving you of an essential first necessity.”

“No, it’s not. And I will have my phone, for an hour, every evening.”

“I still believe it’s torture.”

“Mom calls it family bonding.”

“See, told you.”

“Stop being silly.” Cas’ laughed and sent a cushion to Dean’s face.

They bickered and fought in good spirits. Castiel told him funny stories about previous winter break road trips. Dean thought he was going to die from laughing when Cas’ told him about the three different sex ed talks he had the pleasure to get from his mom while he was helpless, in a car. Each time, she had planned everything, with diagrams, and book references, and schemas.

The first one had basically been about making babies. And Castiel still remembered all the details he wished he had forgotten. Like how it was natural for people to sometimes poop while they were giving birth.

The second one was about regular straight sex ed, which Castiel had found both boring and mortifying but necessary to some extent.

And then, he had gotten a bonus third one because he had come out to his parents, and his mother had taken upon herself to read as much as she could on the subject so she could give him a full powerpoint presentation on pretty much everything she thought he should know, plus a two pages long bibliography.

By then, Dean was bent in half, laughing so much he was crying. It was actually very thoughtful of Castiel’s mom to have done that, but the way Cas’ was telling it was absolutely hilarious.

Before they knew it, it was time for Dean to leave. They kissed, Cas’ waived Dean off and they made promises to see each other at school.

The last week of school before break went by in the blink of an eye. They texted a lot and had one more date on Friday afternoon during which Dean promised he would sneak out on Saturday to come say good bye.

The Nowaks were leaving in the late morning. Dean showed up a little before ten after his father had gone to work, and after walking with Sammy to the library before heading there.

Castiel’s mother was absent. She had gone to the garage to do one last check-up before their departure, just in case. Even though they had done an extensive one two weeks prior, ‘better safe than sorry’ she had said.

His father was there, and he welcomed Dean with a firm handshake and told them he would be out of their hair in a minute. He still had some last minute packing to do.

Cas’ hugged Dean tight and breathed in Dean’s scent.

“What are you doing?” Dean chuckled.

“Hush. I’m fixing it in my memory.”

“Well, I was worried you would laugh at me for bringing you one of my t-shirts, but it seems like you’re just like your cat, aren’t you?” He laughed.

“It’s very important to leave belongings with your scent on it for your cats when you leave! I know the neighbor will come every day, but it’s not the same. She will be happy to snuggle my shirt and I know it- wait. You brought _me_ a t-shirt?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Okay, I take back everything I’ve ever said. You’re the best!” Castiel jumped at Dean once more and hugged him even tighter.

“Oh! Okay, okay.” He caught him and pressed a hand at the back of his head. “It’s the one you like, of Pink Floyd, with the triangle. But it’s also one of my favorites, so take care of it, okay?”

“Yes, I promise! I love you.”

Dean laughed. “I love you too.” He couldn’t help but blush.

They stayed like that for some time, and then headed upstairs to Cas’ bedroom. It was exceptionally tidy, and Cas’ bags sat in the middle of it. There was a tiny brown package on his desk.

“I got you something. Here, open it.” Cas’ said, handing Dean the box.

Dean took it and made an attempt at opening it cleanly but his hands were shaky. He finally tore the paper, and inside of it was a scale model of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala in a clear box with a bracelet tied around it.

“It’s… Thank you.”

“I know how much you like that car, for a reason I cannot fathom, but, well, I thought…”

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

“And I know you’re not big on jewelry, but it was the only way I could think of for you to keep me with you, without other people knowing. I hid my name in it. It’s in the closing mechanism.”

The bracelet was a nondescript chain bracelet, just like thousands of others, but indeed, right under the clasp was the three letters ‘cas’ engraved in it. The ingenuity resided in the fact that when the bracelet was tightened, no one could see it, not even inadvertently.

It was Dean’s turn to hold tight on Castiel.

“It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone ever gave me.” He whispered.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it. And I love you.” Dean said.

Castiel’s father called him from downstairs. It was time to go. Dean helped Cas’ with his bags. They hugged one last time, and Dean waived at the car and Cas’ until he couldn’t see any of them anymore.

He brushed his fingers against the bracelet. Tears were prickling in his eyes. He was going to see him again soon, but damn, he was going to miss him.

He picked up his backpack and slowly made his way back to his house. When he arrived, he immediately noticed his father’s car in the driveway, and he felt his guts twist.

Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. His father never came home on Saturdays. Saturdays were always very busy days at the shop. And Sammy had told him he would stay at the library until closing time. He had even packed his lunch.

His palms started sweating. He considered turning back and leaving, but whatever it was about, it would probably only make things worse. If he waited too long, his father would start drinking, and if he waited even longer, Sammy would be the one to come across their father.

He hid his backpack with the Impala in it in the hedges, just in case, and entered the house.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains depiction of violence. It should be the only one. I did it that way so people who don't want to read about it can skip this chapter and read the rest. There is a summary in the 'End Notes' at the end of the chapter.

As he stepped into the hallway, Dean immediately noticed a couple of empty beer cans. His father had already started the drinking. His throat tightened.

“You better get your ass here.” John’s voice called.

Dean’s heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood rushing to his ears. He walked on auto-pilot to the living room. His father was seating in the armchair, a small flask in one hand.

“Hi dad. You’re home early-”

“Cut the crap.”

His voice was ice cold. Dean didn’t even try to say something. And even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to. He was frozen.

“I thought I had been clear. Apparently not enough. And I had to learn it from some woman… Nowak’s her name…”

“…”

“No? Doesn’t ring any bell? You better stop lyin’ right now.” John stood up, swaying a little.

Dean instinctively stepped back.

“See, she recognized my name. She became all excited, started tellin’ me aaall abou’ her fuckin’ life. Big trip she said! Fuckin’ annual family trip, with her son, and oh! she was fuckin’ proud of her son. And how I had to be reaaally proud of my son too. I thought she was talkin’ about Sammy. But no. And you know who she was talkin’ about?”

“…”

John stepped closer. “Oh you know, don’t you?”

“…”

“ ’told me it was about my _son_ , the one called _Dean_. I couldn’t believe what I was hearin’.” He made another step forward. “She told me ‘oh, you must be so proud of _him_ , my son has been helping _him_ and _Dean_ is doing so good, and _he_ is such a polite young _man_ ’, maybe you care to explain yourself?”

John was now so close Dean could smell the alcohol in his breath. He still couldn’t bring himself to talk.

“I thought I had told you to stop with that nonsense!” John shouted. “That if you wanted to fuckin’ stay under my roof, you had to obey my rules, and fuckin’ stop acting like that sick perverted kind! Didn’t I?” He screamed in his face.

“…”

John grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt. “Yes or no?!”

“…”

He shook him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes.” Dean had tears in his yes.

“But you didn’t. And you fuckin’ lied to me! And you thought I wouldn’t find out! But I did! Yes, I did! And I’ve had enough.”

John released Dean only to slap him. Dean stumbled. John seized him again and sent him flying full force against a wall. Dean winced in pain as his head hit the wooden panel.

He thought his father was going to hit him again and he put his arms in front of him, to protect himself. But John had stormed off, towards the room the brothers shared.

He heard a lot of crashing and loud thuds. He didn’t dare to stand up to go and see what was happening. He retreated to a corner, his head was pounding. He had to warn Sammy not to come home. He got his phone out just as John reappeared. He immediately noticed it.

“What’s that? Give it to me!”

Dean tried to hide it, but it was no use. John was on him in less than a second and snatched it from his hands.

“Don’t move. I’m not done with you.” He punctuated his words with his fist.

The front door opened and Dean thought of escaping but he heard his father rummage in the trunk of his car, and before he could make a decision, the door closed again.

He came back with a heavy wrench and headed back to Dean and Sam’s room. Dean heard more violent crashing. He curled up, his pounding head in his hands and tears flooding his face.

When John came back, he had two big trash bags almost bursting in his hands. He threw them outside, in the yard, and then headed towards Dean. Once he was in front of him, he took his belt out.

“Please dad, no!” Dean pleaded, his arms facing outward.

It didn’t make John stop. Dean protected himself as best as he could. When John was done, Dean was motionless and sobbing. John was panting. He put his belt back in place and turned away.

“Go to your room.” He said as he headed outside to the yard.

After a while, Dean found the energy to drag himself back to his room. He closed the door behind him and crashed on the floor.

Everything was trashed. His bed was broken, the desk was split in half, all his clothes were gone, and pretty much all of his possessions were destroyed, crushed to pieces.

He felt empty. He didn’t have it in him to cry. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to go back to when his mother was still alive. He wanted to have run away with Sam when he still had the chance. Sammy. What would happen to him? It was all his fault.

He crawled to his mattress and curled up in a ball. He hugged his knees. It hurt. He looked at the broken desk. He deserved it, he decided. All of this was his fault. He thought he had run out of tears, but new ones came blurring his vision.

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, it was dark outside. His whole body hurt. He could make out Sam’s silhouette in the shadows.

“Sam?” He croaked.

“Dean!” Sam whispered. “Are you okay?! I tried to wake you up, but I couldn’t. Dean?”

“I’ll be okay.” He managed to answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. You’re sure you’re alright? You don’t look like it.”

“Uh uh.” Was all Dean could manage.

Sam stayed silent for some time.

“What happened?” He finally asked.

Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. He tried moving but he had a gigantic headache.

“Don’t move, I’ll be back.”

“No! Dad!” Dean said, alarmed.

“Don’t worry, he was still burning stuff in the yard when I came home, he didn’t even notice me, and I heard him crash in his bed some time ago.”

Sam left and came back with water and a box of cereals. He handed both to his brother, with an Advil. Dean thanked him and slowly, very slowly sat upright. He gulped the Advil with some water and forced himself to eat a bit.

They sat in silence before Dean found the courage and the force to speak.

“He found out that… He found out I was still trans. He met Castiel’s mom.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. He was pretty pissed.” He wanted to chuckle, to laugh it off, to reassure Sammy, but he couldn’t.

“We’re going to be alright.” Sammy declared, but his voice was unsteady.

“Of course we are.” Dean managed to answer.

Sleep claimed Dean who was way too exhausted to fight it, and Sam was left alone to wonder in the dark.

The next day passed like a weird dream. Dean barely left his room or his bed apart from going to the bathroom. But even then, he avoided mirrors. He didn’t think he had any broken bones, but he knew he had quite a few bruises and they all hurt. Fortunately, his head was feeling better. He didn’t have a headache anymore, but the pain in his jaw was still throbbing.

John spent the whole day outside of the house God knows where. As far as the Winchester boys were concerned, this was a good thing. Little did they know that somewhere on John’s bedroom floor lay Dean’s phone. Several texts were visible on the locked screen.

C: _I already miss you._

C: _I regret not kissing you one last time._

C: _Now I want a kiss :(_

C: _Well, my hour of phone time is up._

C: _Talk to you soon. xoxo_

When John came back that evening, Sam told Dean he looked smug. They didn’t really know what to make of it, but it felt like the calm before the storm.

Sam managed to smuggle Dean a sandwich and an apple and he spent some time trying to tidy their room, to erase the signs of what had happened. He was scared and he couldn’t keep looking at it. It was nagging at him.

A little before nine pm, they heard knocking on the door. Sam went to look out the window, but he couldn’t see anything.

They heard their father welcome in the two people. Dean looked at Sam. This couldn’t be good. The door of their room opened. Two dudes wearing nondescript clothes went inside.

“Hi Deanna. We heard you were having some trouble. And I want you to know that it’s alright to struggle sometimes.” Dude number one said.

“We are here to help you.” Dude number two added.

Dean tried to make a run for it, but he was still stiff and dude number two caught him.

“We are here to help you. We do not mean you harm.” Dude number two said while still holding him firmly.

“Your father believe you need help, help he cannot give you, so we are here to help you instead. You will come with us and receive the help you need.” Dude number one added.

“No. No!” Dean refused. “I’m not coming. I’m not!”

“We were afraid you might react in such a manner.” Dude number one was obviously leading the operation. He was shaking his head. “Go ahead.” He said to dude number two.

Dude number two swiftly got a syringe out, jabbed Dean, and pocketed it back as if nothing had happened.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, coming back to his senses.

“Don’t worry, it’s only a mild sedative.”

Dean was going limp in dude number two’s arms, he dragged Dean and walked towards the front door as Sam was running after them, but John caught him the hallway. He looked at Dean coldly. "You're not my problem anymore. Don't come back if they can't fix you."

Dean tried to speak but his mouth felt strange and no sound escaped.

The last sight he caught was the front door closing on Sammy who was still screaming and kicking while John held him tightly.

They shoved him in the car. His vision went dark as the engine came to life, and everything else faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief summary of this chapter:  
> Catiel's mom went to John's garage, John then found out that Dean was 'still trans', he went home, confronted Dean about it, lost his shit, the next day he saw Castiel's texts on Dean's phone which made him decide to enroll Dean in a conversion program, two dudes came to take him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short update, I know, but necessary (?)  
> I'm still working on this fic, however, finals are almost there, so it might be a few weeks until i update again. Thank you for sticking with me and reading this!

_Dear Dean,_

_Nothing is making sense._

_I figured something was wrong when I didn’t hear from you for days._

_I knew something was definitely wrong by the time I called you and went straight to voicemail for days on end._

_And yet, nothing is making sense._

_My mom always tells me to write it down when it gets overwhelming. I know they never read what I choose to write down, it’s for my eyes only. I trust them._

_You’re not my first relationship, but you’re the first I really like. So of course, I worry. I worry about losing you, about what ifs, what if you wanted to break up with me but couldn’t do it, so you let me leave instead and played dead._

_I know it’s not likely, but my brain can’t help it. I can’t help but imagine all the scenarios, the good ones too, but mainly the bad ones._

_Like… what if you had collided with a truck on your way home? What if you were truly dead and not playing, and I didn’t know. It scares me._

_I know that, realistically, the truth must be a lot milder than that. Your phone probably died, or rather you broke it. And I’ll see you as soon as we’re back_

_I just… can’t help but fear the worse._

_I’m sure I will see you in a few days when I’m back, or at school the next day. I’m sure I will see you._

_See you soon._

_Cas_


End file.
